


Uncontrolled Demolition

by ToxicBabes



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Familial OCs (Mentioned), Family Loss, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: Jordan struggles with the loss of his sister. Miles and Eliza do their best to help him through it.
Relationships: Eliza "Ash" Cohen & Jordan "Thermite" Trace, Jordan "Thermite" Trace/Miles "Castle" Campbell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Uncontrolled Demolition

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is more of an exploration of Thermite's character than it is a shippy/romantic fic. In fact, there isn't anything romantic in it, but it is implied. I do hope to write an actual romantic Castle/Thermite fic in the future because I really adore them both, especially Castle's character and if you know me, I was a big Thermite main prior to Op. Steel Wave.
> 
> Small shout out to Shaun and Johnny for the discussions about the American operators and the insight into various states, it was incredibly helpful!
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think.

Light chatter filled the workshop like any other day. Small circles of friends took up their spots as usual, never deviating from that specific computer or that workbench. Those who spent most of their hours in Research and Development were a peculiar bunch and there were many unspoken rules. No tuna in the microwave, never touch another man’s set of tools, hit the save button for someone if they fall asleep at their desk. 

It was quiet for the most part, the testing chambers were great at keeping explosions isolated. However, Jordan attracted any personality to chat and as a result, the Americans claimed a small sector of the office to themselves. He enjoyed talking as he worked, it was rather mystifying how he could maintain focus on his work while holding a conversation about any matter under the sun.

It wasn’t to say that it was impossible for their other colleagues to join their group, but they had a specific camaraderie. When it came to arguing about sports, there was no chance anyone else was going to get a word in and if anything, the rest of the workshop prayed the topic wouldn’t crop up because things often got loud. Rubbing elbows by comparing their home states had everyone else listening in amusedly, entertained by the debates over which state had the best cuisine.

Once in a while, Marius summoned the courage to spark a conversation with them. Oftentimes he approached to speak to Miles, they had a running routine of recommending and watching documentaries. Although Miles was far more entertained by topics to do with society and culture, he didn’t mind dabbling in the scientific programmes which Marius took interest in. They always alternated between genres and welcomed whoever wished to dip their toes. Although once the volume kicked up, Marius was excusing himself and making a break for it. 

Jordan was often the source of the noise or the causation. With someone as quiet as Erik who preferred to listen and occasionally offer a piece of his mind, Jordan knew to take the reins with their discussions. They would make adjustments to the breaching torch and he was free to vocalise whatever entered his busy mind. Erik was good at working around that, whether it be a complex question or something completely daft.

On the other hand, people like Craig were much more volatile and when mixed with Jordan and Miles, the echoes of laughter reached the other side of the department, prompting some to leave in search for peace. 

Much like the sun, Jordan radiated an intense kind of energy. With such a vast range of personalities amongst the specialists of Rainbow, they received this in different ways. Some tolerated his bright approach, though rolled their eyes at his silliness. Others enjoyed his relaxed nature in social situations, it was a good break from the seriousness of their jobs. For Miles, he appreciated Jordan’s presence, his ability to raise spirits with a flash of his charming smile, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. 

The recent arrival of Håvard Haugland and his sophisticated S.E.L.M.A. had Jordan enamoured. From looking at the reports, only Monika had the opportunity to inspect it. He wanted to take it apart and figure out what kind of genius engineering went into such a device, but NIGHTHAVEN technology was tightly locked. He would’ve liked to study the gadget, but Jordan’s reasoning for speaking to Håvard wasn’t entirely selfish. The guy was new here and he wanted to get to know him some more. All the fame to his name must mean something.

During their conversation. Jordan fidgeted with an X-KAIROS pellet in his palms and listened to the stories, finding himself captured by Håvard’s heroics. He liked him for sure and looked past the fact that he was part of NIGHTHAVEN. Despite Eliza’s concerns, Jordan had forgotten about them the second the Norwegian had him charmed.

Miles picked up a familiar sound, a quiet ringtone murmuring under the talk. He paused then nudged Jordan with his elbow. “Your phone?” He pointed out.

“Oh, shit- thanks.” Jordan reached over the desk and snagged his vibrating phone. He stepped aside to take the call, a brow raised in confusion upon seeing the caller. The story continued on, but Miles kept him in his peripheral vision. Creased brows, the wavering stare towards the ground, every muscle tensed. It didn’t take long for the others to notice and even Håvard fell silent, sensing something was off.

Erik glanced towards Yumiko and Miles, then back to Jordan as he hung up. “Is everything okay?” He asked.

One would think time had stopped. Jordan drew a careful breath through his mouth, his shoulders rising up and he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Blue eyes glazed over with tears and Miles stood to approach him, but just as he did, Jordan broke out of his thoughts. It was hard to pin a word to the precise expression, but it wasn’t often that anyone saw such distraught confusion, especially with Jordan.

“I need to go.”

He left the workshop in a rush, narrowly avoiding bumping into Mark in the process. Another pause settled between them all as they took the brief moment to register what just happened. Yumiko hopped off the desk she was sitting on and went after him, leaving the three men to question what could possibly have shaken a guy like Jordan to tears. 

Miles found out later that night from Eliza and Yumiko. After a year of battling aggressive cancer, Jordan’s sister passed away in the morning. From what he had told Miles about her, all his enthusiastic recollections of childhood memories and the stupid antics they got up to, the pair of them were close. To imagine the sheer agony of losing someone so dear to the heart, Miles didn’t even want to think of his own siblings, he couldn’t fathom the actual pain of it. 

The situation itself wasn’t easy to navigate either. The FBI found out quite quickly and they were careful to be respectful about the news, understanding that piling on condolences would only remind Jordan more of what he had lost. They made it clear their doors were open should he need someone, but Miles knew that this wasn’t enough. Taking an active supportive role was far more helpful and he took it upon himself to check up on him, whether that be through a text or offering they get takeout and distract themselves with some television.

Jordan left for America a few days after. The last thing he wished was to return home on these conditions. On the flight over, he tried to rehearse what was going to happen, he played through the list of events in his head, hoping it would brace himself for the impact. The logical aspect of his mind knew the hard facts, yet at the same time nothing seemed true. Even forcing himself to think about it, his mind rejected those thoughts and he looked onwards, absent of anything coherent. 

In an attempt to placate himself, he picked around his nails and focused on the repetitive gestures. There was little he could do, confined in this enclosed space of sleeping businessmen and his turbulent thoughts. Before he managed to claw open the healing scabs on his arms, he halted and searched for something else, anything to occupy his mind. 

In hindsight, he should have brought a book to distract himself, but he had left in such a hurry that it never occurred to him that he would need something for a long flight like this. All he had was a playlist saved on his phone, one which Miles made for him last night. He turned it up loud and closed his eyes, now understanding what Olivier had meant when he said the loudness can be peaceful because this was drowning everything else out in a soothing manner.

Take it one step at a time. Sound advice, yet for Jordan, it meant focusing on the exact task at hand, not taking a moment to consider what may come next in fear of being overwhelmed. He collected his luggage from the baggage reclaim and joined the growing line at the currency exchange. With an ample amount of cash in his pocket, he hailed a taxi and gave the address of the family home. How strange was it to say those words again after so long, yet instead of feeling an excitement to see his loved ones, a wave of dread engulfed him whole. It was eating at him and all he could do was brace against this incredible force.

The driver glanced at him several times through the rear-view mirror. “Long flight, huh? You look tired!” A gruff chuckle, though dragged out long enough to make the following silence almost painful.

Jordan raised his head and summoned the energy to crack a slight smile. “Yeah, I’m beat.”

“So, what brings you back to Texas?”

“Family. Visiting the folks.” 

Partial truth, though it was a better response than what was really going on. They held a long conversation, he ended up revealing he grew up here, that he joined the Marines, the whole nine-yards. In turn, the driver told him that his son was also in the Marines. They discussed family and within the hour’s drive, Jordan told him all about his childhood. His sister, the tree in their yard, how he broke his first bone falling off it and she had to carry him into the living room. The talk left him smiling at the warm memory. 

The car brakes gave a squeal, then the driver reversed several houses with a laugh. Jordan counted out the bills to cover the cost of the journey then gave a generous tip on top of it. As confused as the driver was, he would never understand how their simple conversation made Jordan feel. That was the beauty of strangers. He hadn’t told his closest friends of this story, yet upon speaking to someone he would never see ever again, the words came easily and he didn’t have to worry about it once they parted ways.

There were other matters to worry about now. Stood at the bottom of the stone path leading through his front lawn, Jordan peered up at the familiar house and swallowed down his anxiety. However, once he stepped through the front door and into the arms of family, he was relieved that he wasn’t alone in this. He held his nieces and nephews close, tried to make them crack a smile through all the pain and anguish. It was the least he could do, hoping to be their anchor in such a time. 

The long chats with his brother-in-law and his father, discussions on every topic aside from what they had just lost. Jordan understood the fear of being vulnerable, they were all focused on making sure the rest of the family had someone to be strong in this moment. The thought of keeping all of this pent up, it ate away at him and he wished they would talk about the damn elephant in the room, but he found himself falling into the very same traps.

It hurt to address it. They talked about the medical bills, the time of the funeral, making transport arrangements for extended family. Not once did they address the fact that they lost a wife, their daughter, someone important in their life. Not once did Jordan mention his sister’s name. Instead, he sat and followed the conversation, sipping at his liquor in troubled silence.

The house fell silent when they decided it was best to get some sleep. His father left for home and Jordan took up the spare guest bedroom. Sat on the edge of the bed, he went through his nightly routine of moisturising the scar tissue on his arms and found the sensitive skin had been broken where he itched at it without much thought. Between the absentminded picking at the scabs and his constant work with caustic chemicals, Jordan’s arms never got a break.

His phone gave a buzz, taking his weary attention. The jet-lag was certainly settling in, but he wasn’t sure if his mind was capable of resting. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” He mustered a light tone, drained of any enthusiasm. “It’s like, what? Four o’clock? What the hell are you doing, man?”

Miles chuckled back. “Checking in on you,” he answered. “How have you been?”

Horrible. On the brink of crumbling into a thousand pieces and never getting up. Truly bearing the weight of the universe on his shoulders. “I’ve seen better days,” Jordan murmured and he drew a shuddering breath through his mouth as he laid down on the cool bed covers. “It’s good to be home though- hey, what’d you say to Mike about training today?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. He gets it. We had Håvard fill in for today, there’s plenty of hard-breach to go around.” Miles’ reassurances never failed. The smooth tone of his voice was a soothing rub on the back and Jordan closed his eyes, focusing on it. “Are you really okay?”

He couldn’t find the words to describe what he felt, but it was far from his usual mood. “Probably. Maybe not, I don’t know. The funeral’s tomorrow.” An unrelated thought passed his mind, one which he latched onto in hopes to distract himself. “Y’know, there was this whole ruckus over getting pants for my nephew. He’s grown so much over the summer that his old slacks don’t fit anymore. He’s even taller than me _and_ he’s fifteen. Insane, isn’t it?”

The tired rambling got to the both of them. For Miles, he was glad to hear a little joy in Jordan’s voice, but he was aware it was simply how he spoke to others, there was far more going on under the surface. It wouldn’t be Jordan if he didn’t try to find the smallest bits of humour in anything. “Yeah, kids grow fast. Then us old men start shrinking,” Miles said and he glanced at the clock. The numbers were almost unintelligible, all he knew was that it was far too late for him to be awake. “Listen, I know it’s rough as hell right now. But you’ll get through this, alright? I don’t mean to get sappy but you know me, I care about you.”

Jordan hummed and tried to suppress the painful sensation in his chest in response to the sentimentality. “I’ll try,” he said with a sniff, feeling pathetic for being so miserable. Though this response was normal, he tried to remind himself of that. “Gosh, it’s so damn late… you should go sleep, I’m keeping you up.”

“Alright, you should get some shut-eye before tomorrow as well,” Miles advised. “Keep in touch with me or Eliza. We’re here for you. Really. I’m being serious.”

And with all the seriousness in the universe imposed upon him, Jordan responded with, “Yessir. Will do.” It was an attempt at humour, one which flopped and evoked a pitiful laugh in return. 

The jet lag was catching up to him. Once they hung up the call, he fell asleep faster than he expected. Though part of him wished he had the strength to stay up longer because at least time wouldn’t pass as fast. In a blink, he was shaken awake by the sound of his alarm and once the heart palpitations settled, every inch of his body became saturated in an intense dread. He really didn’t want to get up. 

It was hard to decipher what was going on in his head. A confusing mixture of emptiness and anxiety, and all Jordan knew was that he hated feeling like this. He continued to lay in bed and he blinked at the stippled ceiling, listening as the rest of the household began to come back to life. Water rushed through the pipes and he heard the muffled shouting of his brother-in-law telling the kids to get up. Jordan didn’t blame them for their refusal, his natural instinct was also to lie in bed until it was over. It wasn’t the right thing to do, but it appeared to be the easy way out.

He forced himself to get up. The family needed to be held together and it wouldn’t be of his character if he stood by the sidelines. He helped scrape his nephew out of bed, encouraging him to begin with small objectives like grabbing a quick shower. Then in the kitchen, Jordan offered to feed his niece while his brother-in-law caught a breather from the whirlwind of a morning. It was the least he could do. As he did so, an aching sensation settled in his chest. A toddler wouldn’t be able to comprehend such loss and it pained him to know that this grief would be permeative, a void in their lives.

The funeral left a profound mark upon his memory. Extended family gathered at the service, some whom he hadn’t spoken to in over a decade, but the distance that had formed between them was closed by this shared mourning. It was like a black hole, drawing everyone closer into those unsettling silences and the embraces that wished to make things better. Through all the tears shed and the exchanging of condolences, Jordan found himself numbed. He sought for any form of relief, but it never came easily.

Was it the fear of looking weak in front of everyone? The obligation to be a strong figure for his nephew? Did he even have the capacity to cry? Jordan couldn’t figure out what led to this sudden detachment and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that he was holding himself together so well. That was, until after the funeral. He didn’t have a lot of time to remain in America, but enough for an evening with family and plenty of time to think. 

The returning flight left him with more worries. This wasn’t a minor hiccup he could brush under the rug. Jordan hoped he would be able to compartmentalise this problem to keep it from interfering with his work, but he sensed the coming weeks would be much harder than before. Once he set foot in England, he prayed for a shift in his mental state from the incessant fixation on his loss to a complete focus on work. Instead, he was granted purgatory, where every dark thought sat on the back burner and loomed over his shoulder to pester him. He didn’t know what else to do with himself than to work tirelessly and not to look back in fear of what haunted him. 

He didn’t have enough fingers to count the number of instances he woke up at his desk with Miles’ jacket blanketing over his shoulders. The rest of the workshop kept an eye out for him, he never lost any of the unsaved research. Yumiko stepped in where she could and reminded him to take regular breaks, a walk to stretch his legs and wrist exercises to stop the cramping. No one had the heart to tear him away from his distractions, so they tried to partake where possible, offering to help with gathering data or giving advice. 

Despite being in the research and development department for so many hours, Jordan’s presence seemed diminished. He wasn’t as talkative as he once was and in his place stood a quiet, focused man burning all his energy on his projects. Eliza didn’t like this side of him. If Jordan Trace wasn’t chattering away in the workshop, there was something wrong. 

Eliza caught up with him during the evenings. The microwave hummed, heating up a Tupperware of spaghetti and Jordan paced, tapping his hands against his pockets as he waited. Had it not been for Miles bringing the leftovers to work for him, Jordan wouldn’t be eating. In fact, he almost forgot to. It wasn’t until nine o’clock did his stomach ache, having gone over seven hours without any food.

“Hey.” Eliza approached and followed him back to the desk he was working at. The Tupperware was hot to touch, but nothing he wasn’t used to. “You busy?”

Jordan poked his fork into his dinner a couple times. “Right now, not really. What’s up?” His voice was soft and there was a tinge of weariness behind it, but he tried his best to sound alert. 

“I made this for you.” A chilled thermos of homemade sweet tea. Eliza set it on the desk and didn’t know what to do with her hands, her usual composure uprooted by the act of giving a gift. Touched by the kindness, Jordan’s expression lit up and they laughed over the simplicity of the gift. It wasn’t much, but it meant far more. “I know it’s your favourite, but I wasn’t sure how to make it properly. I asked Collinn about it, it’s his recipe.” 

At the mention of his colleague, a smile played at Jordan’s lips and he uncapped the Thermos. “Our favourite Kentuckian would give you _his_ sweet tea formula?” He raised a brow and chuckled before taking a sip. It wasn’t the same as the family recipe, but enough to warm his soul and make him reminiscent of home. “Gosh…”

Eliza studied his expression eagerly, almost tense as she waited for some kind of feedback. “Is it nice?” She asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

Like the beverage had brought some peace to his mind, Jordan gave a nod and savoured the taste. “Thanks, ‘Liza.” He let out a sigh of relief and looked down at the drink, reluctant to consume it too fast, but then he gave in and took a swig. “And let Collinn know that this is pretty good.”

A pause settled between them long enough for thoughts to fester. Eliza took in the sight of his cluttered desk and the gadget blueprints on his monitor, noseying at what he was working on before she patted his shoulders and squeezed the tensed muscles. “I’m going home now, but don’t work too long alright? You’re ramping up the electricity bills for this place,” she joked, but her gaze was serious. The dark circles under Jordan’s eyes were worsening by the day with every rough sleep in the workshop. If it meant having to escort him back to his tiny apartment, she would drag him by the collar.

* * *

The act of confiding in a friend about personal issues always had an obstacle to cross. It was simple at first thought, just _talk_ and be comforted by the fact that someone was listening, that someone understood. What wasn’t easy was finding the courage to ask for it. An evening to chat or a brief phone call, to Jordan it felt as if it was an open admission that he was vulnerable. He didn’t like to admit it, even if everyone knew he was treading the precipice of holding it together and becoming completely unhinged. Those who saw the shift in his behaviour were waiting for something disastrous to happen, but for the longest time, Jordan hadn’t shaken out of his distractions.

He had blocked out the thoughts of his sister for weeks now. He didn’t know if he could afford to unfurl his tightly-wound grief, he feared it would consume him- regardless, there was something definitely eating away at him. Anything that reminded him of her sent him spiralling into a horrible state of unease and he avoided it. He hadn’t sought out his family since the funeral for this precise reason. Work provided him a good excuse, but most days he found himself searching for something to do.

It was one of those evenings where the late-night squad of the workshop told him to go home. They were packing up for the day, putting away tools and brushing up the mess of shrapnel left behind in the testing chambers. The glow of his desk lamp had caught Mark’s attention. He nudged Marius and they exchanged some muttered words before they made their approach. It didn’t take long for Emmanuelle to join in, she joked she should build a robot to periodically shock Jordan once per hour to remind him to take a break. The concern meant well, but Jordan didn’t see anything too worrying about his behaviour. They did, mostly because it was only a recent occurrence for him to work so late into the night. 

He took their advice and saved his projects. On the drive home, he indulged himself with his favourite restaurant. The food in England was no match for America, but he managed to find himself a local fast food place that didn’t disappoint. It was the third time this week the owner of the establishment served him and without even needing to mention his order, they knew what he wanted. He claimed his small booth by the window and ate his meal in silence, feeling sheepish for betraying his diet, but he would be damned if this didn’t bring him comfort.

As he cleaned up the last of his fries, a memory had returned to him and he thought back to the aftermath of the funeral. There was no way he was going to bring his mind away from this. Unsure if he wanted to deal with this by himself, Jordan took a left turn on the journey home and followed the familiar route to Miles’ house. 

The beam of his headlights through the living room window alerted Miles and within seconds, he was standing by his opened door, watching as Jordan pulled into his driveway. 

“Hey. Everything okay?” Miles allowed him into his house and observed him with an amused stare. 

Aloof, Jordan shrugged and stepped out of his shoes, searching for the excited pitter-patter of dog paws. “Yeah, I’m good,” he answered, the tone of his voice detached and Miles doubted his honesty. “Wanted to see my girl.” 

Miles smiled at the reason. He had a good notion that there was far more going on under the surface. “Oh? Lola was wondering where you went.” As they approached the living room door, the quiet whining and clicking of claws grew louder. Jordan braced himself to be pounced upon by a magnificent beast. “She misses you.”

It was difficult to talk with a frantic dog covering from head to toe in slobber and love. Jordan held back his laughter and held Lola close, waiting for her to settle down from her excitement. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured and gave her a dozen kisses on her head to make up for his absence. “I feel horrible, leaving for so long after she’s gotten used to me. Was she anxious?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Miles assured him. They made their way to the garden with a tennis ball in hand and an excited dog making laps around their legs. It warmed his heart to see Lola get along with Jordan so well. When they first met, she was mistrustful, snarling at any minor interaction and ready to bite. Now she adored him. There was still some progress to be made correcting her behaviour, however Miles was glad to have an overly-excited dog than one unable to trust anyone else than him. She still had her boundaries, but being able to recognise familiar people without aggression was a major stride. 

Jordan tossed the ball a couple times, occupied by the simple act of playing with the dog. Since the weather was holding up and it wasn’t too cold, Miles brought them two beers and set it on the table. They had a growing list of cult classics which Jack had urged them to watch, though Miles sensed it wasn’t going to be any usual evening for them. He let their silence linger, knowing Jordan would break it when he needed to.

“Guess I’m crashing on the sofa tonight,” Jordan murmured and they clinked their beer bottles. It would be nice to have something stronger, but he opted for better ways to cope. He continued to pet Lola, giving her a good scratch behind the ear and in turn he smiled at the contented expression on her face. As he raised his gaze, he met the gentle look Miles cast towards him, one that was both relieved to see him at peace yet also questioning if he was truly okay. “Summer here isn’t quite the same, is it? Definitely not compared to California, huh?”

“Could be worse,” Miles supposed and he shrugged it off. These few days of heat were a blessing, a change from the constant raining that left the lawn waterlogged and soggy. “I don’t mind it actually.”

This kind of small talk masked important issues, skirting around the topic that was vivid red in Jordan’s mind. He thought about the response and gestured at the quaint house. “Seems like it since you’ve settled down here for the long run.” He tried to spark a grin, but instead he looked towards Miles with his lips twisted into an uneasy simper. “Might as well make it good.”

They could talk about settling down and future aspirations another time. Miles didn’t want to continue avoiding to address something that was clearly bothering him. Brows furrowed, he made a mental map of how to navigate this topic. “You’ve been out of it lately, man. I won’t lie, it’s freaking us out,” he began. “Eliza, Jack… _me._ We just wanna know how you are.”

A tinge of guilt flashed across Jordan’s expression. He broke their eye contact and threw the ball for Lola. “I’m hanging in here,” he answered in a small voice and during the following pause he asked himself if he was telling the truth. “Some days I don’t even want to get up and I can’t stop thinking about… about her. Other days, it doesn’t cross my mind. But I’m managing. I think.”

Coping through long nights in the workshop, lost in a sea of blueprints and prototypes, barely remembering to rest for a moment. The hours of poor posture and repetitive movements without break was catching up to him, his lower back ached and the tendons of his wrists strained with movement. Miles was torn between wishing to disrupt this cycle of behaviour and feeling cruel for tearing Jordan from what brought him distraction.

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Miles told him, the simple request speaking a thousand words. Unlike the others who demonstrated their worry through lighthearted jokes, this was a solemn kind of honesty that struck Jordan in the heart. 

A taut sensation overcame his entire body. His throat stiffened and it was hard to stop the wave of stinging tears gathering in his eyes. The air around him, though cool and stagnant, became sludge in his lungs and Jordan fought the urge to let go, to unleash every troubled thought burdening his mind. Though if he did, he knew Miles could handle it. He was the anchor of their closely-knit unit, the mediator. 

“Yeah, I’m trying my best.” And sometimes Jordan’s best wasn’t enough. His idea of self-care involved self-destruction, expelling volatile energy through endless work until his mind was too exhausted to grieve. “But you know what it’s like- it’s fucking hard.” 

Feeling uncomfortably hot, Jordan took a long swig from his bottle and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He fidgeted with the overgrown hair falling forwards onto his forehead, brushing it back before he tried to restrain his erratic movements. These days, he swore his hair was growing more grey as the stress got to him. He sniffled and sought a cheerier topic to raise the mood, but nothing else came to him.

“So I went to that burger place for dinner- Louis’ Grill? Anyways, I got my food and while I was eating it, it reminded me of when we went to get lunch after the funeral,” Jordan recalled, finding slight comfort in telling this story. 

In hopes to raise his mood, Miles offered a small smile and indulged in the change of subject. “In-N-Out?” He guessed. 

“‘Course not. Whataburger… I’m not going all the way back to Texas to miss out on my jalapeño and cheese burger.” They laughed over it and Jordan managed to stave off the tears. “So we’re sitting down, all of us in our funeral clothes. We get our food and I don’t know what happened to me. I start crying. Bawling! And everyone’s looking at me because lunch has just been ruined by Jordan having a damn breakdown in Whataburger. Out of all the places, I had to do it there. The burger tasted so fucking good, those jalapeños were hitting the right places, but that wasn’t the thing making me cry. I sure as hell wish it was.”

It was embarrassing enough to listen to the story, much less be the person who was victim to it. Miles gave a pitiful laugh, but his smile faded once he watched Jordan’s expression crumple, the shuddering inhale and how his brows furrowed upwards, the muscles in his face tensing as if it would do anything about the emotions overwhelming him. They just passed the point of no-return and Jordan was waiting to end up doing something that would humiliate him for the rest of his life. 

“I finally got a hug from my dad for the first time in three decades. Only took half the damn family to die first,” he found himself saying, allowing his train of thought to continue its journey of poorly-timed humour and incoherent rambles. He turned to look at Miles and there was nothing to hide. He was falling apart on display. “I’m sorry for just showing up like this-”

“No, you’re okay.” Miles was quick to reassure him, the contact of his hand against Jordan’s forearm was sudden but warm. “And you’re gonna get through this, alright?”

Jordan responded with a nod. His vision was clouded by his tears. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason why he was feeling this way, perhaps it was the build up of everything thus far. It came in torrents like sudden rainfall, the ugly sobs shattering his composure and scaring Lola into running indoors. An uncontrolled explosion of emotion and Jordan was caught in the blast, the impact leaving him scattered for Miles to piece him back together. 

Jordan brought his palms to his face, hoping to hide an expression contorted by agony and pain. It wasn’t as if Miles hadn’t seen him cry in the past, he had shed his fair share of tears over horrific chemical burns and bullet wounds. Though this was different. The humiliation seared through his chest and burnt the back of his throat. He was made small and weak by his own perception of what strength meant. 

This wound wasn’t physical, but it tore him in two. And for weeks he has been clinging onto his sanity, holding it together by its seams. In the late evenings, he continued to ignore the emotions piling up inside of him, allowing them to propagate and accumulate in the cramped space of his head amongst all his other busy thoughts. The pressure kept building and now he had to deal with the repercussions of everything spilling apart. It was messy and he began to wish he went home instead. 

Miles brought him into an embrace, coaxing him into his arms without much difficulty. Jordan didn’t expect the contact to become so consoling, but once he latched on and buried his face into the soft fibres of Miles’ T-shirt, he was glad he came here. He wept until the wet patch on the cotton bloomed and bloomed, pressed hot against his cheek and soaking up all the moisture. It was stuffy and uncomfortable where his face was smothered into Miles’ chest, but the only sanctuary he knew. 

A hand rubbed soothing circles into Jordan’s back, fingers weaved through his coarse hair and brushed it away from his face. The strong arms around him tightened and Miles’ face pressed into Jordan's hair, returning the hug with just as much need. The need to know that Jordan wasn’t going to try to handle this alone, because they were both aware he lacked the capability to withstand the force of his emotions by himself. It wasn’t a matter anyone should deal with alone and it relieved Miles to know he could provide an outlet for Jordan’s thoughts. 

He cared for Jordan far more than the other man would ever know. If there was anything he could do to free Jordan of his grief, Miles would do it within a heartbeat. Though it was never that simple. So he held Jordan and held him some more. 

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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